


Someone Reaching Back For Me

by Trigonometrical



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Feelings Realization, First Time, M/M, Unraveled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trigonometrical/pseuds/Trigonometrical
Summary: “Patrick, if you have something to say, just spit it out,” Brian says as Birdo throws a red shell. “You’re giving me a complex.”“I think I want to make out with you.”Brian feels blood rush to his ears. Somehow, he manages (he hopes) to set the controller down and turn in a suave way to face Pat. Says, “You think you want to, or you want to?”“Oh, I want to.” Pat says frankly, though Brian can see that his eyes are a little wide behind his glasses. “The thinking part is whether it’s a good idea or not.”





	Someone Reaching Back For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to get this out before the new season of Unraveled! This is entirely fictional, and honestly based on some dumb decisions/conversations that *I've* made in the past about sleeping with coworkers. The boys have a much happier ending, though.
> 
> Standard RPF rules apply, don't send this to anyone who's in it, or who knows people who are in it. And if you shouldn't be reading it for whatever reason: don't.
> 
> Title from "Holding Out For a Hero" by Bonnie Tyler.

“Ecological impact of _Mario Kart 8_?”

“Too much fluctuation depending on what type of fuel goes into which kart, I've thought about this before. Though driving the karts underwater must negatively affect the local wildlife.” Brian pauses, typing on his laptop, then adds: “What about farming sims as capitalist propaganda?”

“Is there a rich farming lore to mine there? I don't know if Harvest Moon and S _tardew Valley_  have enough of a fanbase for that to really land with our subscribers.”

Brian waves his hand dismissively. “Every lesbian I know is obsessed with farming sims, Pat Gill. And millennials love anti-capitalist jokes with a heavy dose of nihilism thrown in the mix.”

Pat grins wryly and takes a long swig of his bottled tea. “Quit your job, adopt a few goats, and start a bespoke kombucha business out of your urban homestead?”

“Exactly.” Brian types a few notes into Word and then sighs. He glances around the stark Polygon conference room they've reserved, as if seeking inspiration. Other than a couple of Pat's scribbles on the whiteboard, there's a whole lot of nothing. “I don't know how we’ll get enough concepts for this season.”

“You always figure it out,” Pat says. Brian doesn't miss the change in pronoun. Pat doesn't like taking credit for how much work he puts into Unraveled—the late nights at Brian's desk trying to explain tertiary Kingdom Hearts characters, or listening to Brian talk about music theory when _kid, I only know like, four guitar chords, I can't help you modulate this sequence_ , but then coming up with brilliant ideas like _wait what if I join you during the dream ballet?_  

“I go to sleep the night before we shoot,” Pat continues, “with no idea what's going to happen when we get in the room the next day, and then I wake up to a twelve-text series about Mario being a war criminal. Unraveled always works itself out when it's meant to—I've learned to stop worrying about it.” 

Brian sighs and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His eyes had gotten tired of his contacts hours ago. “I wish that wasn't how it worked,” he says. “The series is my favorite thing I've done, like, ever, but the semi-frequent, manic all-nighters are not doing great things for my constitution.”

Pat hums noncommittally. He twirls the dry erase marker around in his deft fingers like a miniature baton. Brian stares at Pat's fingers for a beat longer than he typically lets himself, then turns back to the taunting, blinking cursor on his screen. The governmental structure of the Pokémon world is a decent option, but he can't do it so soon after the rap. Maybe the end of the season. . .

“You're not going to force inspiration just by sitting here,” Pat says from right behind Brian’s chair. Brian hadn’t realized that Pat left his position at the whiteboard. “Besides,” Pat continues, “our reservation's almost up and you’ve already done the difficult part of growing a truly terrible mustache.” He claps Brian on the shoulder. “It's Friday night. Let's grab a drink. Clear your head.”

“I don't think that's how alcohol works,” Brian says, but he's already standing. “Might as well. Maybe a change of scenery will give me some good shit about Final Fantasy or Splatoon or something.”

“That’s the spirit.”

\---

“How’s your son?” Brian asks once they finally sit down at a table, a G&T and fries in Brian’s hands, and a beer and fried pickles in Pat’s.

“I’m so glad you asked.” Pat sets his items down then whips out his phone. “This morning Charles did a somersault while trying to scratch his chin with his back foot, and I got it on film.”

“The commiserate video producer,” Brian says. The Charlie on screen bites at his back foot and then tumbles over himself in a perfectly-executed flip. It’s actually rather impressive. “I see he doesn’t get his flexibility from you.”

Pat smirks and steals a fry. “Who said I wasn’t flexible?”

The energy is a little more charged than usual tonight. The innuendos were always free-flowing—it was Polygon Dot Com after all—but sometimes they were a little dangerous. A little too close to something serious. Brian remembers watching that years-ago Jackbox video, before he’d even sent his cover letter, where Pat had written _I’m strong and I love to fuck_ in a game of Fibbage. That had starred as his primary intrusive thought for his first month or so at work. And definitely for those first few streams when he didn’t quite know what to do with his limbs sitting next to Pat on the couch.

They’re way past that now, Pat his closest friend at the office and one of his closest friends, period. He wouldn’t give just anyone a piggyback ride through the subway. So it’s jarring when _I’m strong and I love to fuck_ blares like a klaxon again in the back of Brian’s brain. _You’ve seen what he looks like when he eats pizza_ , Brian thinks furiously, cutting himself off.

“I was the one who carried you to Times Square,” Brian says. “Flexible my ass, the way you almost knocked me over when we went down the stairs.”

“Maybe I’ve been doing yoga.”

“Have you?” Brian asks, incredulous.

“No,” Pat says, and now his grin is entirely shit-eating. 

Brian huffs and shoves four fries into his mouth at the same time. Chews. Ponders. “You know, maybe there is something to _Mario Kart 8_.”

“Nope,” Pat says, cutting off Brian. He steals another fry from Brian’s basket and then has the audacity to eat it sans ketchup. “Our- our hourly contractual obligation is up for the week. No more work talk.”

Brian goes to protest, but Pat just shakes his head again and makes a buzzer sound. 

Brian bites a french fry in half. Pat takes a swig of his beer. Brian drums his fingernails on the lacquered high-top table. Pat takes another swig of beer. That’s as long as the silence lasts before Brian can’t help himself. 

“Just imagine all of the EPA guidelines I’d get to read and then complain about~”

Another buzzer sound effect, another stolen fry.

Brian whines and takes one of Pat’s pickles, dips it in enough seasoned ranch to power a small army. “You said we’d come here for a change of scenery to jog the ol’ imagination station.”

“Technically you said it, not me,” Pat argues. “And that was before I realized how much you need a break from Unraveled before _you_ start to unravel.”

“Har har.”

“I’m serious, man,” Pat says, though his tone is light. “You have plenty of time before your next project is due, take the weekend off. Relax. Make a weird, niche video for your YouTube channel.”

“Patrick, you’ve known me long enough by now to know I’ve never relaxed a day in my life.”

Pat chuckles, and Brian can feel himself smile in response. He has to admit, it would be nice to make a video just for himself. Something avant garde and maybe a little spooky now that his facial hair was a character of its own. But what he says is: “Video production to take a break from video production? Like- like how you take a break from streaming Dark Souls at work to stream Dark Souls at home?”

“Exactly like that, yes,” Pat says, not taking the bait. He finishes his beer, points to Brian’s nearly-empty highball glass in the universal symbol for, _another?_

Brian opens his mouth to say no, that he has to wake up early and work on something he’d shot last Tuesday. But he’s worked every weekend for the past two months, and he wasn’t wrong about the fevered content creation affecting his mental and physical health. Maybe sometimes Pat knows what he’s talking about. But only sometimes.

Brian knocks back the end of his drink and hands over the glass. “Thanks, shoog.” 

Pat grins, and if he had a mustache as robust as Brian’s, he’d be twirling it like Waluigi.

Three drinks in, Brian isn’t drunk but he is feeling pleasantly warm and loose-limbed. His fingers slip when picking up his drink for the last time, and he decides to cut himself off for the night before Pat has to pour him into a Lyft. Pat holds his alcohol much better, like an actual adult, but he’s still unbuttoned the top button of his shirt to reveal a hint of graphic tee underneath.

They’ve been talking for a couple hours about everything and nothing, more fries and pickles stolen to the point that they ended up splitting them fifty-fifty. It’s been a nice way to unwind on a Friday. But Brian is getting restless and a little fidgety, like they’re right at the cliff’s edge of either shaking hands cordially and calling it a night, or heading to a club (after calling Simone, of course) to dance until four a.m.

Pat wipes the back of his wrist across his mouth. “Should we go back to my house and film a _Gill and Gilbert_ secret show for Twitch?” he asks.

Brian taps his chin, pretending to consider it. “Tara would murder us.”

Pat _hmphs_. “Okay,” he says, and leans in conspiratorially. Brian can hear the smile in his voice, even if Pat’s face is too close to see it. “Let’s play without cameras. I’ll even put a piece of tape over my webcam so the NSA can’t see.”

Brian can feel Pat’s breath on his cheeks, and it smells like the shandy he’s been drinking. It’s not _bad_ , per se. Just a little overwhelming. “Patrick, Patrick, Patrick,” Brian says, “you’re _never_ supposed to go to the second location.”

Pat laughs loud and sudden, and it sends a non-alcoholic spike of warmth deep into Brian’s gut.

Slightly emboldened by the alcohol—he’s a touchy-feely drunk, and he knows this about himself—Brian grabs Pat’s hand and rubs his thumb over the back of Pat’s knuckles. “Thank you for looking out for me,” Brian says. “I appreciate it, even when- even when I’m being an asshole about it.” It’s a little too much for the situation, and Brian’s really glad he decided to stop drinking.

Pat covers Brian’s hand with his other one, a nice little hand sandwich in the middle of the table. “You’re just saying that so I agree to play _Celeste_ so you can kick my ass,” Pat says.

And there he is, dissolving the weird seriousness with a perfectly thoughtful joke. Brian could barf or possibly swoon. He doesn’t dignify Pat with a response, but he does hum in agreement as he steps up to the bar to pay his tab.

 

\---

As soon as Pat opens the door to his apartment, Brian pushes past him in search of Charles. Who is, fortunately, right by the door, and who flops over and shows his tummy the second he sees Brian. Brian coos and pets his head. He knows after many trips to Pat’s house that Charlie’s stomach is off limits, regardless of how beautiful it is. 

Pat steps over and around the two of them. He hangs his black jacket on the hook on the wall before Brian stands back up to toe off his Converse. There’s some awkward shuffling in the cramped “entryway” that’s also the dining room and the living room, but they’re both used to the NYC song-and-dance by now to coordinate their movements.

Brian sits on the couch and mindlessly scrolls through social media while Pat fiddles with cords and gaming consoles under the TV. He’s halfway through composing a tweet for work when he hears the familiar Game Cube start-up noise. Brian instantly _boop-a-doo_ s along with it, remembering long nights playing video games with his sister in their den in Baltimore.

Pat’s loaded up _Mario Kart: Double Dash_ , which is also a familiar Baltimore-sibling-gaming-entity, and sits next to Brian on the couch. “I always forget how good this co-op mode was and still is,” Pat says as he hands over the second controller.

Brian sings, “Just hanging out the passenger side of your best friend’s ride, trying to use a Chain Chomp.”

Pat grins. “Exactly.” He navigates through the menus and selects Wario for himself, naturally. “My friends and I always used to fight over who was driving at any moment,” Pat says. “It was less cooperative and more like a tense drive to the finish with us swapping places every five seconds.”

“Ah, see my sister and I were simpatico in our preferred _Double Dash_ roles,” Brian says. He chooses Birdo, naturally. “But she always wanted to play Bowser’s Castle, which scared me as a kid. It was just so dark.”

“Duly noted,” Pat says. He selects the Mushroom Cup. “Did you prefer to drive or use the power-ups?”

“Oh, I was a terrible backseat driver,” Brian says, “but I preferred working out the perfect strategies for mushrooms and Yoshi eggs and stuff. You could even say I was,” and here, Brian can’t help laughing before he even finishes the joke, “a power bottom.”

Pat chokes on his water as he laughs, runs a hand through his hair. “Good to know,” he says. There’s a long pause, and then he adds, his voice thick with _something_ that Brian can’t name, “I prefer to drive.”

It’s Brian’s turn to choke on his drink. He huffs a laugh but doesn’t respond as the first race countdown begins. Was that innuendo? Was that _meaningful_ innuendo? The weird, crackly tension that had been there all night suddenly feels amped up to eleven.

As their kart careens around the first spin, Pat getting those blue sparks on the drift like a pro, Brian chances a look over. Pat literally has his tongue-in-cheek, fighting a smirk, eyes glued to the screen. Brian’s body hums and warm tingles settle into his pelvis. Well isn’t that. Isn’t that just.

Honestly, it’s a good thing that Brian is a pro at this game because he plays the entire Mushroom Cup on auto-pilot. They’re cracking jokes almost like their normal selves—because you simply must yell at Bowser for being a _freaking galoomba_ , or cry out when the drift gets too intense and the kart flings off the Mushroom Bridge.

But Brian keeps glancing at Pat out of the corner of his eye, and keeps catching Pat glance at him, just both of them glancing at each other and not talking about it. After two races into the Flower Cup, Brian’s heart rate is so high he’s worried about his heart exploding like a baby bunny.

“Patrick, if you have something to say, just spit it out,” he says as Birdo throws a red shell. “You’re giving me a complex.”

“I think I want to make out with you.”

Brian feels blood rush to his ears. Somehow, he manages (he hopes) to set the controller down and turn in a suave way to face Pat. Says, “You _think_ you want to, or you want to?”

“Oh, I want to.” Pat says frankly, though Brian can see that his eyes are a little wide behind his glasses. “The thinking part is whether it’s a good idea or not.”

Pat sets his controller down. Their kart careens off the track and into the water. Lakitu rights them, as always, but neither of them moves to continue the race.

“I just- I just don’t want to mess anything up,” Pat says. He runs his hand through his hair and avoids Brian’s eyes. “It’s why I never, with- I just . . . friends are so good, you know? I can’t lose that. And you and I, we also work together so it’s twelve kinds of stupid to even think about, but it’s so easy with you. To imagine it. And that- that means it’s easy for me to fuck it up.”

Pat’s eyes flick upward, and suddenly there’s too much eye contact, focused deep into a place inside Brian that he wasn’t prepared to deal with at ten p.m. on a Friday night. “I don’t want to fuck it up,” Pat mumbles, when the silence stretches on too long.

Brian only parses maybe four nouns in that entire ramble, but he gets it. He and Pat went from strangers to work acquaintances to texting-all-day friends whiplash fast. Relationships like that don’t happen every day. And making out with a friend—an incredibly hot friend who is apparently a top and who has been _hiding_ that for _months_ —is a bad idea that Brian was sure he’d gotten out of his system in college. And yet.

Brian feels much calmer than he’d imagined he would during this moment in his late-night fantasies. Maybe it just hasn’t sunken in yet. He can’t wait to unpack this later with his therapist.

“Here’s my theory about this sort of thing, the _what if it messes things up_ thing,” Brian says. He grabs Pat’s hand and strokes his knuckles again, finds he loves the way Pat’s hand is a little sweaty. “We’ve already spoken our truths: you want to make out with me, and I want to do significantly more than that with you—assuming you’re up for it, of course.”

Brian looks Pat up and down, watches him squirm. “The I-want-to-bone-you cat’s out of the bag,” Brian says. “If it’s gonna mess things up, it’s gonna do it regardless. And if we’re about to spend the next two months avoiding each other, we should at least enjoy the dry humping first.”

Pat contemplates this for long enough that Brian worries that _he_ is the one who fucked up. An apology bubbles up in his throat. He calculates how many sick days he can take next week to get the worst of it over and done. But then Pat’s lips twitch into a smirk, and Brian knows he’s fucked in a completely different way.

Pat says, “Dry humping implies there’s also such a thing as wet humping.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Brian says, and Pat does.

Pat’s mouth is warm, so warm and good, as it presses up against Brian’s. Not tentative, but not too forceful either. Assured. As though all Pat needed was an inkling that this wouldn’t blow up in his face before he slid into smooth confidence. It’s disorienting and sexy and Brian feels his heart rocket into his throat when they press together. Brian pulls away first with a shaky, breathy _fuck_ , which turns into a gasp as Pat crowds into his space on the couch. He grabs Brian around the waist.

“How long?” Brian asks, but he’s licking into Pat’s mouth long before Pat can answer. Brian can hear himself whimpering—soft, little things he’d normally be embarrassed by at any point in a hookup, let alone within the first five minutes. But it’s felt like they’ve been in 18 months of start-stop foreplay, and Brian can only do so much. Brian tugs Pat by the hair, needing him closer closer closer, and Pat swings his leg over until he’s straddling Brian’s thighs. His legs are _so_ long, and he’s crowding Brian into the couch in the best way, and Brian nips his thank you into the hard line of Pat’s jaw.

“How long for what?” Pat asks, pressing small kisses along Brian’s hairline. Pat rises on his knees to work the buttons of his own shirt, then tosses it somewhere on the floor followed by the graphic tee underneath. Brian uses the extra space to breathe, for an overwhelmed and giddy second, then wriggles out of his own shirt.

“How long have you wanted to do this?” Brian clarifies. Their chests are pressed together, so much warm skin, and Brian slides his hands up Pat’s ribs to feel it all.

Pat sucks in a breath at the sensation. “Too long,” Pat says simply. He trails the kisses down Brian’s cheek and under his jaw, causing Brian’s head to lull onto the backrest of the couch. His hands are sliding up Brian’s arms now, up to his shoulders, then to the couch cushion to prop himself up. He’s _looming_ , for god’s sake.

Pat’s hips are twitching against his, but Brian can’t really move like this, can’t get good leverage to do anything about it. “Fuck, Brian, when you wore that suit for the first Unraveled?” Pat says between two hard kisses. “It was so tight, wanted to get that ass underneath me so bad.”

“Christ,” Brian whispers. He turns to suck a bruise into Pat’s bicep.

“What about you?”

Brian mumbles what he hopes sounds like “Hmm?” into the soft skin of Pat’s arm. He’s really going for a hickey now, but Pat seems to like it if the goosebumps trailing down his forearm are any indication.

“How long for you?” Pat asks.

Brian pulls back from the spit-slick skin until he can look directly into Pat’s eyes. “The Zelda stream,” Brian says. “You went outside your comfort zone and sang and played a guitar, Pat Gill. It was hot shit.”

Pat huffs a laugh and looks down and away. “More like it _sounded_ like shit,” he says.

Brian is too horny for that self-deprecating bullshit. He grabs Pat’s jaw in his left hand and forces Pat to look at his face. “You rolled with the insane junk I came up with and let me get away with murder in front of our subscribers,” he says. He leans up for a quick press of their lips but that he finds he can’t stop for several long moments.

Finally, he pulls away. They’re having _revelations_ , here. “It was hot. I wanted to stick my tongue down your throat and my hand down your pants, like, immediately,” Brian says, “and I haven’t stopped thinking about your fingers since.”  

“Mm, doing what?” Pat asks lowly. He sits back on his knees and removes his hands from the couch headrest, runs one hand through his own hair. Brian, who has never missed an opportunity to be a sassy fuck in his _life_ , grabs Pat’s other hand and sucks Pat’s pointer and middle fingers into his mouth.

Pat’s glasses are slightly askew now but Brian doesn’t miss how his eyes widen, how Pat’s breath catches as Brian slides his lips all the way down. Sucking off someone’s fingers always feels a little silly in Brian’s opinion. But it’s worth it when Brian licks up the crease between Pat’s fingers and Pat releases the air he’s been holding. Brian’s eyes flutter closed as he swirls his tongue around Pat’s short fingernails, flicks gently against the tips. He moans softly, and it’s only partially for show. He’s also straining in his jeans just from this, from opening his eyes to see Pat overwhelmed and open.

“We should,” Pat starts, then swallows. “We should probably move this to my bedroom.”

Brian pops off Pat’s fingers and it makes a soft noise that causes Pat to blush. “Why,” Brian drawls, sassy fuck, “you gonna show me who you’ve decided to main in _Mortal Kombat 11_?”

Pat recovers quickly from his overwhelm, apparently, because he leans in and threads both hands through Brian’s hair, draws their foreheads together. Rocks his hips down so that Brian can feel how hard and thick he is even through his jeans.

Brian squeaks.

“Not quite,” Pat says. He dips his tongue into Brian’s mouth, swallowing the moan that slips out, then rolls his hips again.

Brian almost shoves Pat to the ground in his haste to get up. It’s a rush of bumping limbs and lips and teeth as they move the ten feet to Pat’s bedroom. Pat picks up Charlie from the bed and gently-yet-unceremoniously throws him outside the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Pants?” Brian asks from next to the bed. He starts working with the button on his jeans.

“Pants.” Pat agrees. They shuck off their jeans in what feels like record time, and then Pat’s pressed up against Brian at the foot of the bed. Brian notes dumbly that he can feel Pat’s leg hair on his thighs. It feels weird and very good. Brian’s brain short circuits when Pat cradles the back of Brian’s skull in one hand and grips his other hand on Brian’s hip.

Pat applies gentle pressure and Brian lets himself sink downward onto the bed. He looks downright predatory as he fucking looms again over Brian’s prone body. His legs go on for miles and it’s criminally unfair. Brian expresses this concept with a choked-off noise and a handwave. Pat removes his glasses and sets them on the nightstand, then gently takes off Brian’s and puts them safely away, too. Brian can’t really see anymore, but he can’t complain either when Pat bites and sucks along Brian’s chest, working his way down down down Brian’s body.

Pat spends longer on Brian’s chest than Brian would have assumed he needed, but Brian’s skin quickly gets buzzy and hot as Pat sucks one nipple into his mouth then the other. His teeth leave faint little marks as he bites into the taut muscle. Brian’s going to be covered in delicious bruises on his chest and he can’t wait.

Brian’s chest heaves when Pat reaches his stomach and then his hips, drops kisses just above the waistband of Brian’s boxer briefs. Brian can feel how hard and leaking he already is, how badly he wants to twitch up and get some friction on his cock now that Pat is so _close_. But Pat seems determined to take his time. Brian is aware enough to know that this is probably because the longer Pat teases him, the louder Brian’s whimpers get—and that seems to be doing it for Pat.

“While you were daydreaming about my fingers,” Pat says, “I was thinking about your cock.” He cups Brian through the soft fabric and Brian keens, throws one arm over his eyes. “How good you’d feel in my hand, in my mouth. All the ways I could make you squirm. You’re so responsive,” Pat breathes. He dips his fingers under Brian’s waistband. “And you sound so fucking good. I could do this for hours.”

“Or,” Brian says, bucking his hips, “you could fucking touch me right now.”

“Could do,” Pat says, smug.

Oh great, Brian thinks, they’re both sassy fucks in the bedroom. Brian groans but internally he’s pleased. He’s a lucky, lucky boy. “Are you going to make me beg?” Brian asks. He slides one foot up Pat’s furry calf.

“I’m not going to make you do anything,” Pat says. Brian peeks out from behind his arm. Pat’s eyes are very dark and very intense and Brian’s cock twitches. “You’re going to be so desperate for me that I won’t have to.”

“Oh fuck,” Brian exclaims as Pat pulls down Brian’s underwear to his ankles. Brian feels trapped, but it’s not the worst feeling in the world. Far from it.

Pat chuckles. “Try again,” he says.

“Please touch me?” Brian asks. His hips are straining, but Pat’s thrown an arm across them to keep him from bucking again.

“Mm, not quite there yet.” Pat leans down and laves the crease of Brian’s pelvis with his tongue, featherlight and almost too ticklish to bear.

Brian tries to wriggle out of Pat’s grasp but Pat’s too strong, has too many years of wrestling training for Brian to break out of being pinned. It’s as frustrating as it is hot. But that’s something for them to explore later, because, “Pat, _please_ , baby I need you to—ah!”

Pat licks the underside of Brian’s cock from base to tip, then takes it in his mouth, closes his eyes as though it’s giving _him_ pleasure and not Brian. And Brian is feeling a lot of pleasure, his feet kicking out on the bed without finding any purchase. It’s so good, Pat’s tongue is so warm, and Brian almost shouts when Pat adds his hand to start jacking what his mouth can’t reach.

“I knew you’d sound amazing getting fucked,” Pat mumbles when he pulls off to catch his breath, and it’s the perfect kind of dirty talk that makes Brian impossibly hard. “Jesus, Brian, the noises you’re making,” he adds, then slides down Brian’s dick again.

“Could say,” Brian gasps, “the same thing about you.” Brian twitches every time Pat moans around his cock. Pat makes happy noises when Brian holds Pat’s head because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. The vibrations push him that much closer to the edge.

Pat pulls off again to work with his hands, and Brian arches his back at the twist-slide Pat gives on the upstroke. “Gonna come so hard for you,” Brian says, and he may be blissed out of his mind but he doesn’t miss the way Pat’s hips thrust forward into the mattress as he says it. So many details to analyze when he’s not underneath the hottest man in the entire world. “You make it feel so good,” Brian adds, and there, another hip thrust.

It’s not the first time that Brian has felt this sexy and debauched, but it’s maybe the fastest he’s ever gotten there. He feels like the god being worshipped and the one prostrate doing the worshipping at the same time. It’s intoxicating.

“’m gonna come,” he pants, and Pat leans up and forward to capture Brian’s mouth in a kiss. It’s exactly what he needs—the teeth scraping his bottom lip, Pat’s hand jerking him—and Brian does shout as he falls over the edge.

Pat works him through it with soft strokes and softer praises in his ear about how beautiful he looks when he comes, _Fuck, Brian your skin is so perfect and so flushed for me._

Brian takes approximately ten seconds to recover and bask in his orgasm, then uses what feels like his last bit of strength to lock his legs behind Pat’s knees and flip them over. Pat isn’t expecting it, and he hits the mattress sideways with a laugh and an _oof_ , bouncing a little on impact. Brian grins and slides over Pat now, straddling Pat’s hips. He can feel Pat’s dick, still in his underwear, sliding up behind Brian’s ass. “And thus the suplex-er becomes the suplex-ee,” Brian says.

Pat huffs and places both of his hands around Brian’s waist. “Technically that wasn’t a supl—”

“I’m going to suck your dick now, okay?”

Pat’s mouth hangs open and breathless for a moment before he replies, “Um, yes okay.”

Brian’s mid-reach behind him when he pauses. “Do you not- not want me to? We don’t have to,” he says. Truly Brian is just Happy To Be Here and he’s willing to do pretty much anything that Pat wants.

Pat flushes, and that’s a sex flush right there, folks, and Brian did that. Brian commits this moment to memory.

“Um no, it’s just,” Pat starts, embarrassed, “I’m gonna shoot in like three seconds if you put your mouth on me. And I’d prefer, um, if you blowing me lasted longer than that.”

Brian weighs his options. He’s literally and metaphorically salivating for Pat’s dick, but so far, the sex has been good enough that he’s fairly confident there’ll be at least a round two. He’s willing to play those odds.

“We can save that for later then, baby,” Brian says, cooing when he feels Pat’s dick jump. Now that Brian’s already come, he has the strength to turn up the panache. Brian swivels his hips, brushing his ass against Pat’s dick over and over again. “Though definitely put a pin in it because you feel _incredible_.”

Pat is panting, his own hips twitching, but Brian uses his weight and leverage to stay in control. “I want to do so many things with you, Pat Gill,” Brian says on a breathy whisper. “I’m very good with my mouth, could choke on your cock and still be begging for more.”

Pat gasps, bucks his hips. But this is not Brian’s first rodeo, and he rolls with the movement. Somehow that makes Pat gasp again. His hair has fallen in his eyes, dark and sweaty, but he’s looking up at Brian like he hung the moon.

“I want to ride you,” Brian says, continuing his swivels. “You’d feel so deep and perfect inside me as I slammed on your cock. And we could try so many other positions too. Had a fantasy of you bending me over the streaming couch and just pounding into me. Or sitting on your lap at your computer while you try to get work done. Or up against the shower wall trying to keep so quiet for you so nobody hears.”

“Brian,” Pat whines, his fingers tightening, and Brian grins.

“You’re gonna fuck me in _so_ many ways,” Brian says, matter-of-fact, “but first, you’re going to come for me. Let me see you, Patrick.”

It only takes a few more of Brian’s swivels, Pat keeping that dark-intense eye contact the entire time, before Pat’s eyes slam shut and he muffles a moan into his arm. Brian grins in what he can feel is a very self-satisfied way, lets Pat work himself through the aftershocks before he climbs off and cuddles up next to Pat’s side.

“Holy hell,” Pat breathes, his eyes still closed. He reaches out blindly for Brian’s hand, and Brian’s heart swoops as their fingers interlock on Pat’s chest.

“You know,” Brian says, “you blaspheme a lot in the sack for an ex-Catholic.”

Pat’s eyes snap open just so he can roll them. “I think it’s _because_ I’m an ex-Catholic, Brian.”

Brian hums, says, “Kinky,” and they lapse into silence for a while as their breathing slows down to normal.

Pat’s the one to break it, actually. “I can’t believe I came in my underwear,” Pat says, wincing as he shifts his legs.

“Uh yeah,” Brian says, “you’re gonna need to take a shower. Nasty.”

“It’s your fault,” Pat says. He’s quiet for another moment before adding, “Um, I guess I’ll go do that now before I glue my underwear to my dick.”

“Gross.”

“Will you,” Pat fidgets, his fingers twitching where they’re clasped with Brian’s. “Will you be here when I get out of the shower?”

“Of course,” Brian says, “I need to shower too. I’m not taking the train with your spit all over my dick.”

Brian’s expecting a laugh, but Pat just rolls onto his side so they’re face to face. He doesn’t let go of Brian’s hand. “Um, you could- if you wanted, you could stay the night,” Pat says. “It’s pretty late.”

“It is,” Brian agrees “but I don’t have to stay just because of that.” He searches Pat’s face for an answer, but it’s stupidly blank. Pat can say exactly what he wants in the bedroom, apparently, but clams up when it comes to how he feels. The poor, guilty boy.

“You could stay because you want to?” Pat asks. “Because I want you to?”

Brian’s heart swells in his chest. “I do want to,” he says. “You could have just said that you like-me-like-me and want to be the big spoon.”

Pat huffs. “Firstly, I’m the little spoon,” Pat says, “and secondly, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here. Throw me a bone.”

Brian grins, he can’t help it, he’s just so _happy_. Even if the whole fucking-your-coworker thing—and hopefully, the dating-your-coworker thing, if he’s understanding Pat’s puppy dog eyes correctly—blows up in his face in one, five, ten months, in this moment Brian’s the happiest he’s been in a long time.

“You better make me an Eggo waffle in the morning,” Brian says with a haughty sniff.

Pat grins back, and that makes Brian’s smile even larger, and his cheeks are going to hurt if he keeps being this damn happy.

“I have the chocolate chip ones right now,” Pat says. He unravels himself from the sweaty sheets, and if he notices Brian’s little grabby-hands for him to come back, he fortunately doesn’t acknowledge them.

“Pat Gill, you are a scholar and a gentleman,” Brian says. He laughs when Pat flicks his hair out of his eyes and stands in a regal pose, hand on his hips. It’d be much more impressive without the giant wet spot on the front of his boxer briefs. “Go get cleaned up so we can snuggle.”

Pat waggles his eyebrows, but his smile is too genuine to pull off the suggestive gesture. He slips out of the room, towel around his waist. Charlie must take the opportunity to sneak back inside, because he hops up on the bed and stares directly into Brian’s _soul_.

“Please don’t tell me that you like to watch,” Brian says. Charlie doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move his head. Brian sighs. “We’ll need to figure out a truce, buddy boy, because there’s gonna be a lot more of this in our future.”

Charlie still doesn’t move, and Brian reaches out to scratch his head. “I like your dad a lot,” Brian says softly. He hears the shower turn on down the hall, imagines what Pat must look like scrubbing his hair clean under the spray. Brian tries to ignore his dick getting hard again, he really does, but the shitty New York wall means that Brian can hear Pat humming something in the shower. It sounds suspiciously like “Holding Out For A Hero.” Brian’s heart grows three sizes. He simply _has_ to go check out the song, he thinks, as he searches for his underwear on the bedroom floor. See if he can make it a duet.


End file.
